


Needs Met

by orphan_account



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a way of meeting some mutual needs... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Met

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to "Meeting Needs". Go read it first. Kyle's POV.

_What the fuck am I doing here again?_ I think as I stand outside the motorcoach. I should know better by now, but I can't seem to stay away from him. I know I'm going to leave from here feeling humiliated, and for a few days I'll hate myself, but I know that feeling will pass... or maybe the need will just become greater than the self-hatred. I stand outside his door, berating myself for being so fucking weak, but I finally take a deep breath and pull myself together. I reach a shaking hand up to the door and knock softly three times, our signal that it's me standing out here, that I've returned for another dose of abuse.

I don't wait for him to answer or open the door; knocking is just a formality. I step inside the coach and turn to lock the door behind me. We definitely don't need any interruptions. I take off my Chuck Taylors and sit them beside the door, tucking the laces inside the shoes. I didn't bother with socks... or underwear. I want to be able to get dressed again as quickly as possible.

I bring my hands to the hem of my shirt to pull it off, but I stop myself before I actually grab the shirt. "Stewart," I say, silently asking him for permission.

"Shrub," he says, and nods. I pull the shirt over my head and fold it quickly, placing it on the floor by my shoes. I feel my erection straining against my jeans, and I curse myself inwardly. I'm already turned on by this sick shit. If I'm honest with myself, this is the best part of my week.

And the worst.

I cock my head at him, waiting for him to tell me what to do. "Take them off," he says with no emotion, and reaches down to adjust himself. He's enjoying this, enjoying me, and I love knowing that I'm affecting him just like he's affecting me. I want so badly to call him on it, but if I do, I know he'll kick me out, so I keep quiet. I need this too much to fuck it up by opening my big mouth.

I unzip my jeans and push them slowly down to the floor. I step out of them, pick them up and fold them, and place them on top of my t-shirt.

I step towards him, but stop before we're touching.

"What do you want, Shrub?" he asks me in that same flat, emotionless voice.

I look down at the floor. He already knows what I want. He knows, but he's going to make me say it. My mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out... this is the worst part, having to ask him to give me what I need.

He laughs, and it sounds so evil that it startles me.

He steps forward, pressing his body against mine, rubbing against my cock. He knows how much this makes me want to touch him, but he knows I won't. I feel myself shaking with need, but I don't reach out to him. Bastard.

He leans into me, places his mouth against my ear as he whispers, "Tell me Shrub. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need. That's the only way you're going to get it."

I don't know how many more seconds I can take of not touching him as I whisper, "You."

"Me? What about me?" he says.

"You're what I want," I whisper.

He chuckles and drawls, "Be. more. specific."

You asshole, you _know_. You know what I want... please don't make me ask... please don't make me beg like this. I shake my head... there's no getting around this.

I stutter and feel my face burn as I whisper, "I... I w-want to suck y-your c-cock."

He grabs my shoulders and shoves me to the ground as he spits out, "Then get on your knees, bitch."

My hands are trembling as I unzip his pants and push them down. Why does it make me so hot when he calls me bitch? Why do I like the feeling of him pushing me down so much? I wrap both of my hands around his cock and stroke him, enjoying the feel of sliding my hands over him.

"I thought you said you wanted to suck my cock, not give me a hand job," he growls.

I don't even think before the retort pops out of my mouth, and I tell him "Patience." I expect to feel him grabbing me by the shoulders and throwing me out the door for being such a smartass, but he doesn't. I sigh in relief and run my thumb over the slit at the tip of his cock. I stick my tongue out and lick it hesitantly, still not sure if I'm going to be tossed out on my ass, but he groans loudly, and I know I'm safe for the moment. I suck his head into my mouth and make a fist around the base of his cock, sucking and stroking at the same time. I slide my other hand down to cup his balls and take him deeper in my mouth. I start to gag, and I reflexively try to pull away, but he grabs my hair and holds my head still. I relax and continue sucking him, letting my teeth lightly graze his cock as he thrusts forcefully down my throat. I feel him coming, and I swallow every drop. I'd never want him to figure it out, but I love the way he tastes. If he knew... he'd probably never let me suck him off again.

He stands before me, panting, and looks down at me. My cock is so hard that any movement at all is torture. All I want is for him to touch me... to touch myself... but I know not to, so I wait.

He smirks at me, then turns and heads for the fridge to get a beer. "Get dressed and get the fuck out of here," he growls at me.

I can't help the whimper that escapes from my throat. Please... no... don't send me away.

He laughs at me and takes a drink of his beer. "I'm sorry, Shrub, I didn't quite catch that. Was there something else?"

"I want you to fuck me," I whisper.

"Oh really?" he teases.

"I need you to fuck me," I whisper, even quieter than before. I know he's heard me by the smirk on his face. He's waiting until he has me begging.

"Please, Tony... I need you to fuck me... please," I beg.

"Fine," he says. "Go to the bedroom and wait on me. Get the lube."

I sigh inwardly. I was so afraid he was going to say no... I start to crawl towards the bedroom, and he says my name. I turn to look at him, and he says, "You may walk to the bedroom."

This is new. He's never let me walk there before. I'm shaking as I push myself up from the floor. What does this mean? Is there any significance to him not making me crawl to the bedroom? Or is he just fucking with me, playing mind games? I walk slowly to the bedroom, trying to figure it all out. I reach into the top drawer of the closet and get the small tube of lube. I know how he wants me... I lay down on the bed and spread my legs. I don't want to disappoint him.

He comes into the bedroom, and I can feel myself smile. For a second, I think he might smile back, but his face drops into that patented Stewart smirk as he takes the lube from my hand. He squirts it into his hands, rubbing them together. He pumps his cock a few times as he settles himself on the bed between my legs, and I can't wait until he's inside of me. He runs a finger over my opening, teasing me before he begins to thrust his finger in me. I moan as he pumps in and out of me, increasing his speed. He pulls his finger out, and I can't help the cries that escape from my mouth... please, don't stop. I need more.

He positions his cock against me and I buck against him, trying to hurry him up. I need this NOW. He pushes in slowly, trying to give me time to adjust, but that's not what I want. I feel tears in the corners of my eyes as I beg "Please, Tony, just do it. Don't be gentle. Fuck me hard." He pulls back out and slams into me, and the scream he pulls from me could shatter glass. It hurts... oh god, it hurts. _This is what I want, though,_ I think to myself as he pounds into me. "Harder... please! Do it fucking harder!" I scream. He continues thrusting into me roughly, and I think I know how to get just what I want... what I need. "Come on Stewart, I know you can do better than that!" I yell as I grab his arms and dig my nails into his biceps. He bites into my shoulder as he comes, and I scrape my fingernails down his back as I find my own release, screaming his name.

He pulls out of me and rolls onto his back beside me.

I run a shaking hand through my hair. He bit me. What the fuck?

"You bit me," I say.

"Yeah, I did," he says evenly. He leans over my shoulder and kisses the bite mark. Again, what the fuck? He's _never_ kissed any part of me.

He gets out of bed and walks towards the bathroom, and says, "Be gone by the time I'm done, Shrub."

I lay in the bed for until I hear the water running, and then I walk slowly down the hall to my waiting clothes. I dress quickly, not bothering to lace my shoes or button my jeans. I step out of the coach into the cool night air, feeling something I've never before felt when leaving him... hope.


End file.
